


Blue Skies Over Camp X

by Franzbibliothek



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: AU where Steve and Bucky attend WWII spy school together, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Stucky Library Big Bang 2016, the OSS which the SSR is based on did train operatives there, there was in fact a paramilitary training camp in Canada sometimes referred to as Camp X
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franzbibliothek/pseuds/Franzbibliothek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little documentation is available which might tell exactly when the Office of Scientific Intelligence (which would become the famed SSR during the war) was put together. The OSI’s existence may have begun a few months before Pearl Harbor or, as some scholars hotly debate, may have been collaborating with the British Intelligence community for years before the US formally entered the war. What is known however, is that the BSC did all they could to support the fledgling organization, offering the OSI use of its agents, trainers, and, since the US was not yet in the war, a training facility in Canada. This facility has been given many names, but to the locals of Whitby, Ontario, and history, this facility is known simply as Camp X.</p><p>-Cloaks and Shields: A Primer on the SSR during World War II by Lynn Stafford</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Skies Over Camp X

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was my first time doing something so large with a time table. It was good, and I'm hoping to do it again, hopefully next summer won't be as hectic as this. Maybe I'll do more short-term things for practice along the way. But the best thing to come out of this experience by far was this beautiful piece by Eyesoffelina: http://eyesoffelina.tumblr.com/post/149680055394/this-is-for-blue-skies-over-camp-x-by.

“They’re doing awful things over there, Ma.” Steve motioned at the newspaper, his hair flopping into his face at the violence of the gesture. The paper depicted a wounded London, its children separated from parents, its buildings in ruin, its citizens buried under rubble. Yet, the article concluded with a diatribe, nauseatingly smug, emphasizing the importance of the USA’s continued neutrality, pointing out that, at least, it was not the tears of American children being cried, nor the blood of American people being spilled. The paper was entirely mute on other matters, saying nothing of the Poles, the French resistance, or prisoners of war. Only in the non-English papers were rumors of horror even hinted at, religiously would Steve’s neighbors comb through them, searching for the names of loved ones whose letters had stopped coming. 

“Things like this don’t just blow over. We’re going to have to go, end it ourselves, whatever the fellas on capital hill are saying to get elected.” Steve rolled up the newspaper. “I know you never approved of war. You were always saying that it’s made by the rich man and fought by the poor man, but looking the other way isn’t peace. We’ve already tried it and now plenty of people, rich and poor, are paying the price.” The heavy stone slab stared back at him, giving neither comfort nor condemnation. It wasn’t quite winter, but the stark blue sky smelled like snow, meaning Steve was alone in the cemetery. There were only wilting bouquets and sycamore trees to witness his attempts to justify himself. 

Steve frowned at the gravestone, tracing his mother ’s name and dates. The heavy serifed lettering didn’t fit Sarah Rogers, giving the impression of a woman with pursed lips who would look down on you. Steve had thought it when he had first seen the finished stone, but at the time he had been simply grateful that a stone had already been bought for Da. It was lucky the Rogers had purchased this plot at all, back when they had the money for it. Sometimes, Steve wondered, if they had purchased it with a sickly infant in mind. Yet, here he was, eighteen, and he was still looking for his Ma’s permission to go out and play soldier.

Wasn ’t she supposed to be at peace, caring no more about the tears and toil of this world? Still, Steve couldn’t help but wonder whether Sarah Rogers was still organizing union meetings in heaven. He grimaced at the paper. He was almost glad she had passed when she had, blissfully unaware of what was coming, the war in Europe was nothing more than a storm cloud on the horizon. Sarah Rogers had already had her war to end all wars.

Steve pulled out his enlistment form, staring for a moment at the I-A proudly stamped on the corner, slowly his eyes moved to the attached, hand-written note, its contents Steve already knew by heart:  “Go to the corner of 16th and 64th Brooklyn by noon. Buy a newspaper, roll it up, and keep it in your hands. Wait to be approached.” Three terse sentences to determine his entire future. Not for the first time did Steve wonder what he had gotten himself into, but hadn’t he said he was prepared to do anything?

Steve put a hand on the smooth stone, missing a pair of calloused palms so badly it ached. Ma would have understood, even if she wouldn ’t have necessarily approved. Picking up his suitcase, he left without promising to come back.

 

Steve checked the time, it was already 12:05, but the street corner was still lacking a Humphrey Bogart figure in a trench coat. The only person to come up to Steve so far was a police officer, mistaking Steve for a bum, warning him against loitering. The typical crowd bustled by, a fine lady in a fine fur coat, the secretaries purchasing lunch, the working men on a their way back to their offices, the non-working men looking on at them with envy, and a ragged newspaper boy on the opposite street corner, trying to push his papers on all of them. Steve glanced at his own newspaper, rolled up in his hand, pictures of a battered England still visible. 

As the hour crept by, the newsie across the street began making progressively more elaborate claims about the contents of his papers: a half-human Atlantean has risen from the depths and declared war on the German U-boats that destroyed his kingdom, an American scientist had created an artificial man who could burst into flames, and the Germans had found an ancient artifact that could make anyone ’s dearest wish a reality. No one stopped to buy a paper, but the boy continued to call and advertise, refusing to accept defeat.

At last a man approached, dressed in a sharp brown suit, mustache twitching as he took in the newspaper headline.  “What kind of papers are these? Is the Bugle selling British propaganda now?” The man asked, towering over the boy.

“I’m just selling what they gave me,” the kid said.

“Yeah, well I don’t think you should be selling this horseshit.” The man grabbed the kid’s bundle, flinging it into a nearby trashcan, scattering the papers, sending the the can to the ground with a noisy clang.

“Hey! I paid for those!” The kid cried, and at once tried to retrieve his bundle, the man took a hold of the boy’s collar, giving him a rough shake. The busy crowds continued to pass by the altercation. Before he could even decide if it was smart or not (it most definitely was not) Steve was already making his way over to the scene. 

“Hey, leave the kid alone,” Steve said.

“What? You his mother?” The man sneered, turning his attention to Steve, giving the kid a chance to gather his papers and scamper away. 

“Just sick of you spouting off your— ” The first punch connected with Steve’s cheek before he even finished speaking, giving him no warning to defend. Steve swung a wild punch in response, the taller and heavier man caught it, striking Steve in the gut for his trouble. 

Falling to the ground, Steve dropped his newspaper and suitcase, the gravel biting into his hands, his bad eye flashing colors, making focus a difficult. Piercing the cloud of pain there was one clarity, Steve was failing the test. No self-respecting member of a secret organization was going to approach him now. He was too much of a spectacle. The man kicked at Steve, who had to use both his hands to keep the finely shod foot from getting him in the soft of his belly. Doctor Reinstein had given Steve one chance, increasingly it was becoming likely that he was going to be spending it passed out on a street corner, next to a trashcan. 

That was when Steve noticed, gleaming like a beacon to his half-blinded sight, barely brushing against his bruised fingers, offering some hope of redemption, a trashcan lid. Quickly, before the man could kick him again, Steve grabbed the lid, flinging it. The man stepped back, neatly dodging the metal discus, a half a moment though was all Steve needed to clamber back to his feet.

“I don’t think you thought this through, kid,” The man said, raising his fists, mustache framing a snarl, when, suddenly, Steve’s opponent stumbled forward.

“Sorry!” Someone, their arms full of grocery bags cried out, “Excuse me!” they cried again as they proceeded to kick the belligerent man to the ground, in a manner that must have looked accidental to onlookers. In quick succession, this rescuer handed a bag of groceries to Steve and whispered, “Grab your suitcase and come on.” By the time the bully could right himself, both rescuer and rescuee were gone in the crowd. 

“You should have held onto that newspaper,” Steve’s rescuer said, “In the right hands it can make a handy weapon. The trashcan lid was clever, but you’ve got to hold onto it, for it to be a proper shield.” 

His eye no longer throbbing in pain, Steve could properly take in his savior. He was wearing a plain suit, a gray jacket with a gray hat that would not have seemed out of place on any number of young not-yet-successful business men. His clothing, however, was entirely overshadowed by the fact that he was smoky-eyed and full-lipped, his dark hair combed back except for the curls that escaped and fell over his comely brow, he was movie-star handsome, there was no other word for it.  “I would have been fine,” Steve said. At that the handsome young man laughed. Steve could feel his face flush red, stopping, causing the person behind him to stumble and curse him as they went around, he held the grocery bag out. 

“Thanks for the help, but I really need to go back,” Steve said. 

“Aren’t you Steve Rogers?”

“How—” Then Steve snapped his mouth shut, realizing what an idiot he was.

“It’s Okey.” The handsome man gestured for them to start walking again. “That wasn’t exactly how I was planning on approaching you either. Now, my car is just around the corner. Oh, and I’m James Buchanan by the way.” 

Steve remained dumb since he couldn ’t even offer his name in return and followed James. “Here we are,” John said, as they arrived at a car, its brown exterior obviously well-cared for. Steve couldn’t really make much of more of it, having no real knowledge of cars, the only person he had ever known to own one being the local undertaker. Steve put his luggage in next to the probably unnecessary groceries, climbing into the car as James slid behind the driver’s seat. Without another word of explanation they were off, leaving Brooklyn, and all of New York City behind  them.

In just a couple of hours, Steve was farther from home than he had ever been. Crowded streets and skyscrapers gradually gave way to single-family homes with yards and fences. Steve watched the transformation with awe, widening his eyes to the point of painfulness, trying to take it all in, the farmland reaching into the horizon like the backdrop of some Hollywood feature.  “What are you gaping at?” James asked. 

“I just hadn’t realized there was so much green in the whole world is all,” Steve said. It seemed that before one scene was composed before his eyes it was gone, and some other small wonder had taken its place. A part of him wanted to beg James to stop the car, letting him sketch properly the way the light hit that tree, or the poetic barrenness of the fields. This was worlds away from the many afternoons whiled away, looking out his little window, trying to come up with some clever new way of capturing Mr. Roth and his apple cart. For the first time in his life Steve was on the move. 

“So, where are we going?” Steve asked.

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” James said, with a military clip that belied his civilian gear. Steve could judge from the sun flooding into the side window that they were heading north. What could possibly be in the north? 

“What were you doing in New York?” 

“Classified.”

“Do you work for Dr. Reinstein?”

“Classified.”

Steve twisted his mouth a bit to the side.  “Why were you so late picking me up?” James gave him a look before turning back to his driving. Steve prompted, “Classified?” 

“Not really,” James said, “I lost track of time visiting my sister before heading out.”

“Oh.” Back home that sort of admission would come with a number of expected following questions: What borough did she live in? Who were her neighbors? Was she married? Did she work? Now that sort of friendly interrogation seemed unwelcome.

James glanced at Steve again, perhaps taking in his hesitation.  “Do you have family?” He asked.

“Classified.” Steve said, before his brain could quite catch up with his mouth. James broke into a smile.

“I guess I deserved that,” He said and shook his head. “Things are only to get worse from here on out though. I still don’t know the name of the man who recruited me. I only really know one thing for sure about this whole business, its that my sister is getting set up much nicer than if I was just an enlisted man.” 

“So, James isn’t your real name?” James just lifted his eyebrows at Steve. “How’d you get recruited?” 

James gave Steve a sly, conspiring smile.  “Now that’s a story, and I think it’s all been covered up, probably no way for you to verify it one way or another. You see, I’m an army brat. I signed up the moment they let me because I couldn’t imagine any other way of life,” James shrugged “and then one day I noticed that the guards by a bridge were real sloppy. I mean, any saboteur worth anything could have blown the thing sky-high without any trouble. So, I try to tell the higher-ups but they’ve got no use for a grunt who thinks he’s got a brain.”

“A couple days later, I get some of my buddies together and had a lady-friend distract one of the guards, hopping in a boat we put fake explosives on the bridge, the whole time no one noticing a thing. Then I tell my CO about the whole business and the color he turned! I thought I was getting a court-martial for sure! Instead, I end up in a room with some guy with an accent and a fake name, telling me they sure could use fellas with that kind of ‘initiative’. And here we are.” He gestured to the windshield. “Off to do who knows what.”

Steve stared at James with wide eyes. Over the years, he had gotten into his own share of mischief, usually by not thinking too carefully, but this was something else.  “That sounds like something out of movie.” 

James shrugged, his eyes looked pleased.  “What can I say? So, what about you, huh? What did you do to get picked out for this honor?” 

Steve glanced at his hands.  “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. Come on, we’re not spies, yet anyways. Did you sock Fritz Kuhn in the jaw or something?” 

Steve sank further into his chair.  “I just lied on some enlistment forms.” 

“Why’d you do a thing like that?” 

“I was declared 4-F, but I still wanted to do my part so, I went to a couple other recruitment stations, pretending to be from different places.” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t matter in the end. Always the same result, at least, until I got caught.”

“And instead of throwing you in jail, they signed you up for this?” Steve nodded. “How many times did you try to enlist?” 

“Five.” 

James whistled.  “You must really have it in for those Germans.”

“No, not really, I guess, I just don’t really like bullies.” 

“Hence taking on a fella twice your size with just a newspaper. I gotcha.” 

Helplessly, Steve could feel his face turning red.  “He was picking on some little kid.” 

“The fella certainly had it coming, I’ll give you that, but couldn’t you have found a policeman or something?” James asked.

Steve snorted, thinking of the bruises Ma would come back with after a protest.  “The police wouldn’t have helped. Probably would have told the kid off for being a public nuisance.”

James smiled like he was laughing at a private joke, but Steve didn ’t dare ask him what was funny. So, instead they drove on, the silence only broken by the drone of the engine, and the soft sound of the groceries swaying into one another, the monotony lulling Steve.

“So, when are we going to get there? Wherever we’re going.” Steve asked.

“Oh, not for a while. We’ve still got the border to cross.” 

Steve sat up straight.  “We’re heading to Canada? But I don’t have a passport.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it, we’ve got that covered. Can’t say the name or picture they picked out for you is especially flattering, but it’ll get us by,” James said, patting his breast pocket.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Steve asked, but the effect was ruined by a loud yawn he couldn’t hold back.

“No more than lying on your enlistment form. Sleep while you can, Steve,” James said gently. “There’s not going to be much sleeping where we’re going.”

It was an ordinary classroom, the desks filed in neat row, the air smelling of fresh paint and chalk, a single window that looked over Lake Ontario, its immense surface gray and still. It was a good tactical decision to place the window towards the lake, no one from the road could possibly catch a glimpse inside. Steve was struck by how ordinary it was, not at all unlike the classrooms he had been in until recently. Except, the schools back home had never been in such good condition. The rest of the group, perhaps twenty of them in all, acted similarly put-off by the uncanniness of the place, as if any moment a queue of bright-faced, uniformed children should come by under the watch of a spectacled schoolmaster and demand their room back. 

One by one they found their seats. Steve took the desk next to James, they didn ’t exchange words just glances. A quietness fell, all twenty pairs of eyes flickering all around, as if trying to find some pattern to explain why they had all been brought together. Steve could see that they were much like James, healthy and broad-shouldered and actually fit in their uniform. Steve was painfully aware about how his sagged in the wrong places and that he would be spending the evening after his first day taking in the seams.

The door swung open, and in entered to first surprise to come through it. Each eye at once took in the figure that strode to the front the classroom. The officer was everything a soldier should be: smart with polished shoes and a pressed uniform; she was also a woman.

The female officer stared back at them, her eyes sweeping over each face impassively, before with a single twitch of the mouth and the slightest narrowing of the eyes, she seemed to dismiss them all.  “I’m Agent Carter, and I have been tasked with introducing you gentlemen to the art of ungentlemanly warfare. You have all been informed of the secrecy of this assignment, and as such you will only know one another by your first names, and all instructors rank will be given as agent. The less you know, the less you can ever give away. You’re first task was getting here, the rest, I assure you, will not be so easy.” 

“You have been brought here for one mission, and one mission only: to bring down the Axis powers before they bring us all down. It is true, at this time your government is not at war, but it’s coming. If England falls North America becomes the last frontier of the free world, surrounded on all sides by enemies. You will be our last line of defense.” Agent Carter paused, her student’s only response was deathly silence. 

“But onto more immediate matters. Each of you may end up anywhere: the Burma jungles, the French countryside, or even sniffing out spies in the United States. Where ever you end up what I am going to teach you in the next four weeks will be the difference between failure and success, and, very likely, life and death.” 

“To go truly unnoticed you must aim to be average in height, appearance, and mannerisms. You must do this, and just as vital, come to notice it in others.”

James gave Steve ’s foot a slight nudge. Steve turned his head slightly, taking in the James’ face, his eyebrows slightly raised, obviously trying to communicate something to Steve, but what he couldn’t say. Steve was in the middle of turning back to Agent Carter who was in the middle of detailing the importance of observation in making a proper cover, his eyes were just on the door as it swung open. 

In dashed a man in uniform, his face young and determined. He wore no hat, but Steve had little time to find this odd as the man rushed for the window, nearly knocking some empty desks in his flight. Steve stood up to intercept, only to be pulled down by his collar, pushing him to the ground. 

Before Steve had a chance to struggle against the manhandling, gunshots fired overhead in a deafening explosion of sound. Two pairs of legs in khaki trousers ran past in the same way the first man. Steve couldn ’t make more than a vague impression from his place on the floor, but his mouth open tasted something sour in the air and his nose caught something familiarly flowery, perfume? By this point the intruders had all left through the window.

“Get up!” Agent Carter barked. The shaken class scrambled out from under their desks into their chairs. “Write down everything you just observed. How many men were there? How many shots? What were they wearing? How would you identify them again?”

Before Steve could put his pen to paper the instructor called out,  “Peter! How many shots?”

A freckled man in the back began sputtering,  “Uh, two, uh— Sir.” 

“Wrong! James?” 

“There were three, two close together.” James said, without any tremor or hesitation. 

“And what did the men look like?” 

“I didn’t get a clear look, Sir. I was too busy not getting shot.” James said, earning him an uneasy chuckle from the room. Agent Carter only frowned, her sharp brown eyes turning to the desk next to James.

“Steve!” 

“The first man was thin, young, in his twenties or so and I didn’t get a good look at the two other men, but they were wearing khaki, so probably military uniforms. And, uh, actually, I think one of them may have been a woman.” He added and almost regretted it as he felt all eyes of the room train on him.

“And why do you say that, Steve?” Lt. Carter asked.

“The smell, I uh- think one of them was wearing perfume.” The instructor gave a slight nod of approval.

“Attention to detail and not being fooled by your own assumptions. These are the skills that will keep you alive, gentlemen.” Lt. Carter said, and carried on her lecture as if nothing had happened. This was Camp X.

 

In the movies you didn’t see heroes disassembling their weapons. There was no glory in this fussy, focused work. Steve’s untrained hands were made all the more clumsy as his ears were made to listen to an endless ramble: “You have been taught that the gun is a defensive weapon, it is not.” 

Agent MacIntyre was not a woman, and everything Steve had always imagined a career military man to be. He perhaps under six feet but with a barrel chest and thick neck that gave him the appearance of bulldog that had learned to stand upright as he prowled the basement that had been transformed into a shooting range and his classroom.  “It is an offensive weapon you will use to kill the enemy before the enemy even knows you are there. This is not dueling; this is survival.”

Steve could see through the corner of his eye that James went about the business quickly and cleanly. The pistol felt like a limp animal in Steve ’s hand, that would squirm as he tried to do even the simplest task. By the time Steve had all the pieces laid out before him, and was beginning to despair at how he might put it right again he took another furtive glance at James. The young man already had the weapon assembled and he was looking attentively at Agent MacIntyre. A flash of panic sparked in Steve’s stomach as he grabbed at his pieces too sharply sending the entirety of them scattering to the floor. 

“What the fuck is that! Pick those up! You think I’m going to let you shoot the thing if you can’t even hold it!” Steve scrambled to the ground to gather the pieces his ears hot, feeling those many pairs of eyes that were on him. They were probably already discounting him as competition, just some scrawny runt who won his place out of pity. 

When Steve did finally reassemble his weapon, he was the last of the group. There were a number of poorly concealed smirks as Agent MacIntyre lead them to the range. Steve didn ’t dare look in James direction. 

The rest of the session was spent on pointers on how to shoot with control and accuracy even if there was no time to line up the sights. One bad eye made Steve ’s first attempts wildly off much to the loud vocal despair Agent MacIntyre. James on the other hand seemed to have no problem, hitting the target and clustering his shots in such a way that made even Agent MacIntyre whistle as he took it in. 

“Just had a lot of practice.” Was all James said with an easy genuine modesty, the birthright of men like James who never had to doubt whether they were the masters of their own bodies. Steve felt an ugly twisting of jealousy in his stomach. 

“While these moves are meant to kill, not to stun, you will not get any credit for killing your sparring partner.” Agent Burgess said, stepping away from the practice dummy that he had used to demonstrate the most efficient means of silently cutting a human throat. 

In pairs they spread out around the barn, and Steve found himself paired with a hulk of a man named Lynn who looked rather smug. 

“Go on, you can have the first swing at it, little fella.” His face was sneering. 

Steve clutched at his dummy knife, the rope cutting into his hand as he reviewed the demonstration quickly in his mind. The pull, grab and cut. Steve didn ’t know anything more about guns than what he had seen in the movies. Knives though, he did know a thing or two about knives. 

Steve went through the motions, starting from behind, covering Lynn ’s mouth, pressing the rope against his partner’s thick neck that in a real scenario would have killed before he could have made so much as a sound. Lynn pulled away, not even pretending for a moment to hang limp as they had been instructed. He rubbed his neck where a red mark was already making itself apparent. 

“Lynn, you’re supposed to be a corpse. Steve, good form, no hesitation. I think you’ve got something of a killer in you, don’t you?” Agent Burgess observed smiling before continuing to make his rounds.

Steve got back into position for Lynn to try out the move on him, which the larger man did slower than Steve but with a distinct lack of gentleness. From his vantage he could see James playing murderer on another man, frowning with concentration as Agent Burgess corrected his form. 

The rest of the session was likewise spent practicing on one another the best means silencing an opponent quietly, efficiently, and permanently. As they were beginning to file out of the barn for the next Camp X had to throw at them, Agent Bugess called out:  “James, a moment.” 

“Yes, Sir.” James replied with a practiced salute. Steve found himself thrust in the back of the line as it was and couldn’t help but turn his good ear, only just making out their words.

“All I wanted to say was I knew your father. He was a good soldier. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Out of the corner of his eye Steve saw James nod curtly. 

“Thank you, Sir.”

Without a moment lost James was back in line and they were making their hurried way to their next class. Steve said nothing about what he had heard. James had said he had been raised in the army. That much was apparent from his talent, and for the first time Steve realized just how out-classed he was.

 

“Did we win?” Steve asked wiping blood from his lip.

James looked amused as he gave Steve a hand up from where a number of other recruits had tackled him to the ground. 

“I don’t think so, though you sure seem to have made some friends already. That was clever.” 

“What?” Steve said sharply, because in Steve’s experience popular handsome men giving out compliments were rarely good things. Friendliness when they were stuck with one another was one thing. Steve wasn’t a fool enough to think it would continue.

“The perfume thing. None of these bozos would have noticed that,” he gestured dismissively to where the rest of the recruits were eagerly racing towards the canteen, the smell of food already wafting temptingly in the air. They had been run ragged all day and boy did Steve’s body feel it. “Hell, I wouldn’t’ve. That Carter sure seemed impressed.” Well Steve had always been good at impressing teachers, just not really anyone else. 

“Agent Carter, and it wasn’t anything.” Steve said, wondering if there would still be anything for them by the time they arrived.

James changed tacts.  “You’re something of a reader, huh? All those books you brought with you?” 

“I guess so.” Steve shrugged, but internally was wondering when James would get to his point and leave him alone. Soon James would find some other fellas to be chummy with, but for whatever reason James was slow on the uptake. 

“So, what these kids don’t know is that this isn’t any ordinary training program. Its not just homework and doctors prodding us every once in a while. I was just talking up one of the instructors.” Barnes gave a slight smirk at that like he was planning on charming someone else into spilling their guts. Steve wondered whether it had been Agent Carter. “And they said they’re gonna be giving us a big exam in the next week and that’s going to be really important in determining what they are going to be doing with you. Now I ain’t the smartest guy here, but I’m smart enough to figure out who is.”

“And what do you want with me? Help you cheat?” And Steve felt a disgusted twisting in his stomach. In their time in the car he hadn’t really come to know much about James but he hadn’t thought him capable of doing a dirty trick like that. Was this the only reason he had been acting decent towards him? It wasn’t the first time someone thought Steve would be so desperate for their friendship that he’d let them walk all over him. Steve jutted his jaw forward, ready to show James just how wrong that idea was.

“Hey, hey! Nothing like that,” James said baffled. “I just thought we could study together, ya know, join forces. I can give you some tips on the guns, you’re going to need to improve your form if you want to get Lt. Jameson off your back. You’ve got a little trouble with your eyes right?”

“It’s nothing too big, I’m not blind or anything like that.” Steve snapped.

“I know you aren’t. You just need a little help, just like I’m going to need a little help learning Austria from the Ottoman empire on a map. Do you get me?”

“The Ottoman empire fell over two decades ago.”

“See, this is exactly why I need your help!” 

Steve shook his head in disbelief.  “You help me with small arms and I help you with the written exams?” 

“That sounds about right, what does that smart fella think?” James held out his hand.

“I think… that sounds like a smart course of action, James.” Steve said putting his hand in James outstretched one. When they clasped, James pulled him forward and pounded Steve on the back. 

“I knew you’d see the sense, and my friends call me Bucky. Now lets get going before the gorillas leave us nothing to eat.” He pulled back smiling. Steve’s heart flipped a little in his chest, probably because Bucky had pounded his back too firmly.

“You need to stop changing your name, Buck.” Steve said, realizing that he’d have someone to sit next to in the canteen.

Buck just laughed at him. 

In all Steve’s life he had never had his own room. Now, it was during his time with the military of all things that he could call this small space consisting of little more than a bed, desk, and set of drawers his own. It was almost difficult to fit the both of them in there. 

“Well, Agent Steve, what are you going to teach me?”

“Uh.” Steve shuffled through his own modest collection of manuals and then the far more substantive pile they had borrowed from the lecture building’s library. It had been the stuff of dreams, tombs of tactics, biographies, fictitious agents, and dryer manuals nonetheless made sensational by their subject matter. “I don’t know what will be on the test.”

“Well me neither, so I guess we’ll just have to learn it all.” Barnes said hands on his waist, like a farmer surveying a barren field that must be turned a seeded. 

Steve picked up the first book on the pile. A soldier caught in barb wire between trenches stared back at him.  “I suppose we should best get started then.” 

The terrible excitement of the first day didn ’t go away, it couldn’t it a place like RTS 301, but Steve found himself adjusting. They would have breakfast at 8 and supper at 8 and in between they were lectured and drilled in the nature of spy-craft. Without fail one class would be interrupted in some way in order to keep them alert and warn against complacency. One hand-to-hand class found them at the nearest railroad tracks with fake explosives. In one arms class, to Steve’s pleasure, they found themselves forced to defend against a surprise attack from all the other instructors. Steve had died heroically pretending to take a bullet for Bucky who in turn had sworn vengeance and died heroically not soon after. Agent MacIntyre had loudly disapproved of their antics, but Steve couldn’t quite make himself care. He had never had someone so willing to have his back before. 

“So I’m named after one of the most boring presidents ever. That will impress the girls.” Bucky said, his head on Steve’s thigh as he read. He set the book down and grabbed another without even raising his head. All Steve heard was the flipping of pages and then a soft whistle. 

“And you draw too? You’re the whole shebang kid.”

“Don’t look at that!” Steve snatched his sketchbook from Bucky’s hands. “And I’m not a kid, I’m probably older than you.” 

“Is that so?” Bucky sat up, sketchbook thankfully forgotten. “When were you born?”

“July 4 th, 1922. ” Steve said, carefully storing his sketchbook, in the chest at the end of his bed. 

“So you’re a real live nephew of our Uncle Sam huh? No joke?” 

Steve shook his head.  “And when’s yours?” 

“March 10 th 1923, so you ’ve got a couple months on me. I should probably start calling you Sir.” Steve elbowed him in the stomach. 

“Hey, be careful with those things! Didn’t realize you were allowed to carry around two bayonets.”

They fell into roughhousing for a few minutes until Steve jarred his hand against the bedframe. Then they went back to reading and testing each other because the written exam was only a few days away. Its proximity made Steve anxious, but not because he was worried about doing well. When Bucky finally left Steve opened his sketchbook, flipping towards the back where Bucky ’s face smirking around a cigarette stared back at him.

 

By the end of the second week two prospective agents had already been it was widely assumed sent back home for unfitness, though all that was truly known was that they vanished sometime in the night and didn’t show up for classes, the staff giving no sort of explanation. There were many nights, aching in his bed from utter exhaustion that Steve couldn’t sleep imaging always the terrible knock on the door to tell him that he had not made the cut and was being sent home. 

It must have been long past midnight, though it was impossible to say in the long Canadian nights, that Steve heard a pounding at his door that tore him out of uneasy dreams. Steve stared at it, his heart sinking. The pounding came again, insistingly calling Steve to his fate. Rolling out of bed Steve opened the door to see the grim face of Agent Carter. Steve felt something knot in his stomach, he had hoped when it came that at least it would have been Agent MacIntyre or even Agent Burgess, he could have stood being so lowered in their eyes. But not Agent Carter. 

“Stopping gagging about, get your uniform on and come outside Steve.” She said, before leaving his door and going to the next.

Steve stood in shock for a moment before quickly following her instructions, this wasn ’t his dismissal. Accompanied by a few fellow students who were discreetly stifling yawns into their sleeves, quietly complaining about the unexpected awakening, Steve made his way outside. 

The moon was bright and the air was brisk as they gathered outside the barracks. Agent Burgess surveyed the small group of them silently until all seven were collected. To Steve ’s excitement there was Bucky to his annoyance there was also Lynn.

“Come on.” Agent Burgess said as they made their way across the green. Lake Ontario gleamed in the moonlight. Steve clamped down his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Bucky swung a friendly arm around him. Pride made Steve shrug the arm off, standing up straight even as the night wind cut through him. He knew Bucky meant well, he really did, but he wasn’t some kid that needed looking after. 

Agent Burgess stopped and they found themselves standing outside a building only referred to as the farmhouse. It was never used for classes and as far as anyone knew was only a holdover from when the site had once been a small farm. 

“We have placed a folder containing documents in the house. You will go in to try to locate them. The first one to do so will be getting free beer from the canteen—” A couple of the weary recruits gave a small cheer at this. “But be wary, any one who alert those inside and caught will find themselves peeling potatoes for the rest of the week. Do you understand?” The seven of them nodded. 

“Then what are you waiting for? Approach.” Agent Burgess stepped out of the way. 

At once Steve found himself running through the lessons instilled in them about sneaking through enemy territory. Crouching low and choosing an angle so the moon wasn ’t behind him Steve made his way towards the farmhouse aware of the five other shadows doing likewise with more speed. 

Most seemed to be heading for the front door, but if Steve remembered right … there! It had been drilled into them that the most direct route was rarely the best. From his vantage point he could make out a low-lying window. For once Steve was grateful for his skinniness as he was able to shimmy his way through the narrow opening. Dropping to the ground jarred his ankles, but he was in. A quick once-over with his pocket torch revealed nothing of interest in the cellar. Steve crept up the stairs. 

The first floor, revealed only a comfortable tidy house with a kitchen and a den, the furniture heavy and old-fashioned but in good condition. The other recruits were around slinking about like shadows all avoiding the opening of doors that may lead their capture. That was when Steve noticed Bucky creeping up the stairs to the next floor, and then saw Lynn creeping up behind Bucky. Ill-intent obvious in his every movement.

For a moment Steve was stumped, not because he didn ’t know whether to act or not, but rather that all the hand-to-hand moves that he had been drilled in had been deadly and would not be appropriate for this situation. 

Forgetting all his fancy tricks and relying only on what the back alleys of Brooklyn had taught him Steve ran up the steps to the second floor and pounced on Lynn ’s back. Panicked by the unexpected attack Lynn began to flail and holler in alarm. 

A head popped out of a door.  “What’s going on!” Came MacIntyre’s familiar bark. “Come on, out, the both of you!”

Steve slid off of Lynn, relieved that Bucky was nowhere in sight. Their captor marched them down the stairs and out of the house where Agent Burgess was waiting. He looked surprised as he took in the two of them.

“What happened?”

“The runt just jumped me!” Lynn said.

“Steve?” Lt. Burgess asked.

“I didn’t recognize him in the dark. I thought that he was guard or something.” Steve pleaded with all the falsehood that had been drilled into him. 

Agent Burgess ’ mouth twitched in what Steve could almost swear was a smile as he continued to stare with disapproval at the both of them. 

“Are these the papers you were looking for?” Bucky asked. They all turned to see Bucky standing there in the doorway holding a folder triumphantly in his hand.

“Well, congratulations James,” Bucky came out and handed Lt. Burgess the folder. He beamed at Bucky. “Here are your free beer tickets. As for you two,” Lt. Burgess turned back to Steve and Lynn. “both of you will be reporting for kitchen duty tomorrow.” Lt. Burgess said, taking the folder under his arm. Soon after the rest of the men trailed out of the farmhouse. “Alright, back to bed with you boys, before the next group gets here.”

Dismissed they headed back to the barracks. Lynn gave Steve a dirty look and Steve knew he was going to have to watch his back for the next week. Bucky came by Steve ’s side.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Bucky said.

“Do what?” Steve asked.

Bucky laughed softly,  “punk.” He wrapped his arm around Steve to properly ruffle his hair, and then left it there until they reached the barracks. 

The exam like most everything at STS 103 was an unexpected affair. During the block of time usually devoted to playing a team sport before supper they were instead marched into the lecture building and given an hour to complete a test that asked about everything from German grammar, to dismantling explosives. By the end Steve’s hand was cramping so badly he had to use the other to hold his fork at supper, but he knew he had done well. The rest of the canteen was quiet, and the tense anxious faces told Steve that he was one of the few who had been properly prepared for the exam. Another reason to be grateful to Bucky.

“Well, that’s one hurdle over. I wonder if they’ll ever tell us how we did,” Bucky said taking his usual place at Steve’s left. 

“Probably a military secret now,” Steve said.

“Ain’t that the truth. Well, at least we won’t need to do all that late night studying,” Bucky said.

Steve paused and nodded with a tight smile. It hadn ’t occurred to him that after the exam their arrangement would be over. Bucky wouldn’t need him anymore; not that Bucky had really ever needed him, but any illusion of reciprocity was at its end. Steve would probably spend the next two weeks toddling about like the camp mascot before being shipped back to New York. They ate the rest of their meal in silence as not to disturb the rest of the recruits who were whispering the answers of questions to each other, occasionally one giving out a little cry of despair.

Steve went to bed early that night, painfully aware that Bucky hadn ’t stopped by his room for the first time since they had arrived. Maybe, Steve should ask to be sent back home. He had been over his head from the beginning and no amount of improvements and high test scores was going to change the fact that he was 4-F and Bucky was the obvious choice. Uneasily, he fell asleep without making a decision.

 

Steve observed through bleary eyes Agent Burgess demonstrating the best means of avoiding enemy fire while crawling under barb-wire. The live ammunition whizzing over Burgess ’ head didn’t seem to give him the least bit of pause as he made his way forward. Steve looked at Bucky through the corner of his eye, wondering what sort of calculations were going on in there. How much time he could save if he wasn’t always helping Steve past muster? How much extra sleep he could get if he wasn’t spending his evenings listening to Steve babble about whatever he spouts when Bucky was nearby.

Steve was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn ’t see it happen. A panicked cry escaped from the group as they watched with horror as Agent Burgess slumped onto the ground. 

Steve reached out a hand to catch Bucky ’s arm to keep him from rushing into the barb-wire trench, the ammunition still flying. He didn’t have time to see the humor in him of all people keeping someone from doing something foolish.

“Go get Agent Carter.” Steve said, because Bucky was by far the fastest runner and the Lecture Hall was the closet building. Their eyes connected for a moment before Bucky was racing off, following Steve’s orders. 

The person in charge of the ammunition seemed to realize that something was wrong, stopping the barrage. Steve found himself once again grateful for his skinniness as he crawled under the barb-wire with Lynn of all people and they extracted Burgess from the trench as delicately as they could. 

It seemed an eternity before they were finally free and by that time an entire crowd of instructors and some kind of Doctor took charge of Agent Burgess ’ limp body. Steve realized in some faraway part of his brain that it was Dr. Reinstein. 

After that time seemed to speed up and Burgess was loaded into a car to be taken to the closest hospital. Steve felt a hand on his should and jumped until he realized it was Agent Carter.

“You should get changed.” She said.

Steve looked down and realized his uniform was covered with blood. Which made sense, hadn ’t they learned that head wounds always bled a lot. 

Bucky comes to Steve ’s room that evening. They pour over army regulation manuals, and fail terribly at even pretending to absorb their contents. They don’t say anything to each other. Bucky lies on Steve’s bed looking blankly up at the ceiling while Steve sketches a little until lights out. It’s not until three days later that the entire camp is informed that Agent Burgess succumbed to his injuries. 

 

It was really a sign of how much the other instructors had cared about Agent Burgess that they allowed all the camp residents to attend the funeral. The higher ups were probably having fits about how insecure the entire debacle was. 

It was a particularly bitter day, everyone wore their coats buttoned up to the chin. After the service, and a few words that seemed to give the impression that Agent Burgess had been in charge of the canteen rather than a combat instructor, most hurried back to the cars.

Steve noticed Agent Carter standing a little aways, speaking with Dr. Reinstein, too far away to make out their expressions. Steve stayed by Bucky ’s side, trying not to notice the way the animation was completely missing from his friend’s face. In the days leading up to the burial Bucky’s frequent quips now lagged into long silences and his smiles had a new delicacy that made Steve terrified that he would make a mistake and send everything shattering to the floor, like the one time he had managed a stint as a busboy before destroying an entire set of dishes.

Now at the grave site even these attempts at acting like his old self had ceased and he stood dumb, tall, and handsome. As if he had already been sent off on his assignment far from Steve, and Steve lacked the words to draw him back. Steve reached out his hand to Bucky ’s and clasped it. Bucky looked startled and Steve was certain he would pull away. Instead Bucky turned his gaze away from the gravestone to look at Steve. 

“My Dad, he was an army instructor, and died in a training accident. I didn’t know it was like that. No one ever gave me the details.” Bucky said quietly. 

Steve thought of the barb wire and the blood. A casualty of a war, miles away from the battlefield. You were supposed to say that at least they didn ’t suffer, but that was untrue. Steve’s Ma had suffered, Agent Burgess had suffered, and thousands, tens of thousands of people all over the world were suffering. There were no word for it, certainly no words that would make Bucky feel better. 

“The official report says that he died from a brain hemorrhage, but they put liver failure on his death certificate. Sloppy, what kind of spy school is this? No one will remember him.” Bucky said.

Steve squeezed Bucky ’s hand tightly. “We’ll remember, and after the war we’ll make sure that everyone will know what really happened.”

Bucky laughed a little sour.  “I don’t think you know how the military works, Stevie.” But he didn’t let go of Steve’s hand. 

“We’ll remember.” Steve promised, and decided he would stay. Even if it was hopeless, he would stay as long as he could.

 

The next day when they came to hand-to-hand combat, Steve was surprised to see a man he didn’t recognize. For the past few days various instructors had been filling in and putting them through their drill. This man was definitely not from the camp. He was relatively short, not all that much taller that Steve, but infinitely more muscular. If MacIntyre reminded Steve of a bulldog this man reminded Steve of a ginat rat that had lived in his apartment building. Large, black, and fierce the entire complex had been halfway between awe and terror. Numberless pies had been lost, too many pillows to count had been chewed up, and even the most hardened ratcatchers in the city had come in with arsenals of clubs and poison only to be forced to admit defeat against the great devil who was determined to live forever. 

“Until a permanent replacement can be found, I have been asked to fill in. I’m Jim.” No experience or service record given. That this man knew war and the messy business of taking men’s lives was apparent in Jim’s very walk. They quickly fanned into a half circle for observation of what he would be teaching them. 

“I’m going to need someone to demonstrate on,” he said. The whole group seemed to shrink back, familiar by now what being used as the example usually meant. Jim’s eyes fell on Steve, and motioned for him to step forward. Steve did so, ignoring the anxious look that Bucky sent his way. 

Steve stood apart from the group, not knowing what to expect, until all at once he found himself on the ground his body pinned and already throbbing from the sudden impact with the ground.  “Now, from this position there are a number of ways to kill your opponent, or knock him out if killing is inconvenient.” 

Jim stood up, and gave Steve a hand.  “Now the reason I chose Steve here was that any one of you might be going up against someone taller or bigger than you. That doesn’t make this technique impossible, but it does make it harder. As we’ll show.” 

That ’s how Steve found himself grappling with Jim who seemed impossibly tall and wide. The rest of the session was a blur of lethal repetition. 

By the end Steve is exhausted and sore as if it was his first day all over again. 

“Here,” Once more Jim had managed to sneak up on Steve, however this time he was offering Steve water and infinitely more welcome. 

“Thank you,” Steve said as he took it. 

“You didn’t do half bad today kid.” Steve got the feeling that from Jim this was quite the compliment. “Want to join me for a beer, tonight?” He asked. 

Steve blinked, but found his mouth opening and saying:  “yes” before his mind quite caught up with the question. 

“Steve!” Steve turned and saw Bucky approaching the two of them. “There you are, we need you before we can start.” This was of course a lie. Bucky threw his arm around Steve’s neck and drew him close before glancing at Jim. “That is if you’re done with him.” 

Jim nodded, and Bucky pulled him away.  “What did that creep want with you?” Bucky whispered. 

Steve wanted to correct Bucky, but couldn ’t quite think of Jim’s defense. “He wanted to know if I’d get a beer with him.” 

Bucky ’s arm around his shoulder grew tighter. “You’re not going are you? I mean, weren’t we going to practice German. Those adjectives are going to be the end of me.” 

“I already agreed. Besides maybe I’ll be able to smuggle a beer back. You can study by yourself until then.” 

Bucky ’s lips thinned but he gave up his protest. Steve almost regretted his decision, there weren’t going to be many nights left to them no matter whoever got chosen.

 

Jim met Steve at the entrance of the camp, where a car was waiting. They got in and Steve quickly learned a new fact about Jim: he was a terrible driver. Steve’s teeth rattled as Jim flew over the unpaved country road with apparent disregard of the welfare of the vehicle or the comfort of his passenger. 

“Do we need to go so fast?” Steve asked. Jim responded to this by driving off the road, onto a fallow field. Dust erupted around them, causing Steve to cough until they were finally on another road. 

“Sorry about that, kid.” Jim said before continuing to drive at his crazy speed. When they finally reach the city and Jim parked the car, Steve got out, only his pride preventing him from kissing the sidewalk. 

Now, no longer in fear for his life Steve could take in the city. It certainly lacked the high-rise architecture of New York, but after three weeks spent isolated at camp the modest main street felt like the very heart of civilization. 

“Come on.” Jim tugged on Steve’s arm, all but dragging him down the street right past what Steve assumed to be the hotel. The hotel was a place he only knew through hearsay of those lucky enough to be taken outside the camp where they were treated to lunches and dinners. Steve could only spare the brightly lit welcoming lobby doors a glance before Jim dragged him down an alley way. 

Then they turned down another street and then another alley and then another street cutting through the city so indirectly Steve was almost certain they were heading in circles. Until Jim finally stopped in front of an establishment. It was a beaten down building that ’s hey-day may have been back when the town had first been established, Jim looked up at the crumbling doors with something like affection. They entered, revealing the place to be a shabby sort of bar. 

Jim threw himself down in a chair at one of the few tables and Steve sat opposite to him. Waving two fingers in the air Jim sent the barkeeper scuttling to fill the order as Jim took out a cigar. Cutting off the cap seemed to give him an odd moment of trouble before he stuck it in his mouth.  “I’m not going to light it, probably set this whole rat trap up in flames.” He said. 

He sucked on it for a few minutes rather incongruously like a baby with a bottle before pulling it away.  “Sorry about all twists and turns. Didn’t want to be followed.” 

“Who would follow us?” Steve asked.

“Don’t they teach nothin’ in that school? Don’t ask straight forward questions.” The bartender brought over their beers and scuttled away to attend to his scattering of other customers who Steve thought probably needed anything else more alcohol. 

Steve sipped the liquid that had been placed before him. The best that could be said of it was that it didn ’t taste like much of anything at all. Since this wasn’t liable to make him go blind, it didn’t even rate on the list of questionable beverages Steve had consumed by that point in his life. Jim downed his in a matter of moments and waved for the bartender to bring him another. 

“Aren’t worried about your health I see.” Steve said as he watched Jim knock another back for lack of anything to remark upon. 

“No, I’m not.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I could drink the whole place and it wouldn’t really do anything to me.” Steve had heard all sorts of ridiculous brags in his time, but this was one of the first he actually believed. The bartender meekly put another bottle on the table. 

“Why are you here kid?” Jim asked.

“You invited me.” Steve said, and sipped his beer. 

“Don’t be smart, hide it until you gotta use it. What’s a kid like you doing at Camp X?” 

Steve sat up straight.  “I have just as much as a right as any of those other guys to be there.” 

“None of those goons hold a candle to you, Steve. You’re going to get chosen, but are you ready for what comes with that?” Jim asked. 

Steve frowned. Bucky was anything but a goon.  “I don’t think you’re right on that.” 

“You’ve got eyes that have seen death and told it to keep on walking. They’re going to ask you to participate in the program, you should say no.” 

“I’m not afraid to die.” Steve said.

“No you’re not. It’s the stuff that comes if you don’t die that should scare you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“They’re messing with stuff they don’t understand. Believe me. I’ve seen good intentions go to shit a thousand times. Get out while you can, kid.” 

“Is this all you wanted me for?” Steve asked, finishing his beer because he was not in the habit of wasting things even if he was insulted. 

“Well, I did have some other plans, but I don’t think they’re going to be happening tonight.” Jim said before draining the last of his beer bottle and immediately ordering another one. 

Steve tucked the bottle into his jacket. Bucky had better be grateful. 

“There’s only a week left of training, I can’t leave now.” 

“Is it because of that James boy? Because if he’s what I think he is you shouldn’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.” 

Steve made a face.  “Bucky doesn’t have anything to do with this. Thousands of men are shipping off to die everyday and this is my only chance to do my part.”

“Your part in being chewed up and spat back out by the military?” 

“I don’t have a right to do anything less than anyone else, no matter the cost.” Steve said. 

Jim didn ’t say anything else, only muttered something that sound like idiot as he finished his beer. 

They left the bar about an hour later. Steve felt light-headed despite having drunk relatively little. In comparison Jim had basically drunk the bar dry, with the bartender giving him dirty looks until Jim provided a hearty tip. 

“Are you up for driving?” Steve asked, unsure how else they were going to get back to STS 103, but still not wanting to end up dead by ramming into a tree. If Jim’s driving was nerve-wracking when he was dead sober, Steve didn’t really want to know what it would be like when he was three sheets to the wind. 

“I’m fine.” Jim said, and by all appearances that seemed to be true. Steve had personal experience with just about every type of drunk, and even the high functioning ones couldn’t compare to the evenness of Jim’s steps as if he had spent the evening putting back nothing more dangerous than soda water. 

His driving, if anything, seemed to improve as they headed back to camp without taking a single short cut. 

“I’d tell you to think about what I said, but I can tell you won’t.” Jim sighed. “Good luck, kid.”

Steve returned to his room, but found it empty. He put the beer in the bottom drawer of his dresser. If it was warm and unappetizing (more unappetizing) by tomorrow it would serve Bucky right.

Tomorrow was their final exam, a final proof of all the skills that had been honed in them for the past four weeks. They had all been taken aside and been been personally given their assignments. Steve had intended to spend what time he had left to prepare. Tonight though the STS 103 was giving a party for its recruits and it was mandatory to attend. 

Bucky hadn ’t been in his room so Steve made his lonely way to the party wondering how long they were expected to stay, and what exactly they would be doing since it wasn’t as if there would be dames to dance with. 

The party was almost in full swing by the time Steve finally made his appearance, and to his surprise there was dancing, though not quite with dames. It seemed that about a fourth of the recruits had been drafted to provide female company to a varying degrees of effectiveness. Bucky was among them, by far the best dressed and currently dancing a storm with a shockingly loose-limbed Agent MacIntyre. 

Before Steve could try to approach his friend who else but Lynn should saunter up to him and hand him a cup of punch.  “How are you? Excited about your assignment?” He asked as if Steve hadn’t been given strict orders not to divulge anything about the nature of his assignment. Steve made a non-committal noise and took a sip of the punch. It was sour, obviously liberally spiked with what Steve hoped was only alcohol. 

“But what are you thinking for your cover? I’m sure it will be something very clever.” Lynn said stepping into Steve’s space. Goodness, he had even stuffed the front of his dress to give the illusion of a bosom, they were uneven.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to discuss this.” Steve said. 

Lynn attempted a few different tracts of conversation leaving frustrated by Steve ’s non-answers. As the hour past Steve found himself in a corner still nursing his first glass of highly noxious punch. Bucky was in the center of a crowd, by now playing some game where whoever lost at darts would have to drink a whole glass of punch. 

So far Bucky was dead sober and the rest of his group were cheerfully falling over themselves and were no competition whatsoever. 

Now, Steve wasn ’t stupid. By the third time someone wearing a gown had approached him, trying to ply him with punch, compliments and leading questions it was pretty obvious that this “party” was as much of a test as everything else at STS 103. Still, this was probably Steve’s last night with Bucky and he couldn’t help feeling sore over being ignored. 

Steve put down his cup and headed outside. There was a cold wind coming off the lake, but somehow it suited Steve ’s mood as he walked about in the dark, taking a seat that gave him an impressive view of the expansive water reflecting the stars back at the heavens. The sort of illusion impossible to accurately portray with paper and pencil. Then another burst of wind stirred the water, breaking the mirror and reminding Steve of the other illusion of the lake. 

It was a killer in its own right, the currents having a uncertain quality that had drowned many. Was there anything at STS 103 that wasn ’t deceptive or a trap?

“There you are.” Steve looked back to see Bucky coming towards him. “Not enjoying the party?” He asked taking a seat on Steve’s left.

“No, but shouldn’t you be back there?” 

“I’ve earned a break. Besides you still owe me a French lesson, how else am I going to charm all those dames once we liberate Paris.”

“I think German is going to be more useful for you, Bucky.” 

“Nah, I bet all the nazis we run into will speak English with bad German accents. Haven’t you ever seen Errol Flynn?” Bucky asked.

“Du bist ein dumkopf.” Steve said.

“No, Steve, they don’t sound anything like that! Try this instead: Bwhahaha I have you now Fraulein. No one vill save you!” Bucky said, grabbing Steve by the waist and adjusting an imaginary monocle. 

Steve just gave him a flat look. 

“Du hast die blauest Augen.” Bucky said.

“It’s blaue, remember Buck, plurals.” Steve said. 

“Du hast die rosan Lippen.” Bucky said.

Steve felt a blush creep up his cheeks.  “It’s rosa, and I don’t think this will help you much in an interrogation.” Steve said.

“Du hast die rottest Wane.” Steve shoved Bucky a little, willing his blush to go down. Bucky let go of Steve and laughed. “Ich liebe dich.” 

Steve rolled his eyes.  “We’ve gone over this Bucky. ‘Ich liebe dich’ is what you say to your best girl. If it’s family or friends you say ‘Ich hab dich verliebt.’ Like ‘mir ist warm’.” 

“Ich liebe dich.” Bucky said again, and Steve sighed. 

“I swear the Krauts are going to shoot you before you even open your mouth.”

“You think?” Bucky said.

“They’d take one look at your ugly mug and think they’re doing the world a favor.” Bucky clutched his heart and fell in a pretend swoon, his head landed on Steve’s lap.

Steve looked down at Bucky who was grinning up at him. Bucky raised his hand and traced Steve ’s nose. “Ich liebe dich.” 

The people inside the canteen burst into applause and another loud round of singing. Bucky withdrew his hand. 

“I guess I should be getting back, they’re going to expect a report from us later.” Bucky said as he stood up and brushed the bits of grass off his dress. He looked down quietly at Steve for a moment before offering: “Auf Wiedersehen.” 

“You know, that almost sounded half decent.” Steve said, hoping that the darkness mostly hid the flush of his cheeks because he knew there was no way it was leaving his face anytime soon. Bucky grinned and walked back, leaving Steve alone to look out over the shifting dangerous waters of the lake. 

 

“Is that everything?” Agent Carter asked. Steve nodded, as he clutched his borrowed briefcase. 

“Yes, they gave me everything.” The false id, the letter of introduction, everything he needed for this final test. Steve clambered into the passenger seat and they were off. 

“Good, this will be a little more involved than pretending to blow up a train.” 

“I think the conductors will be relieved.” Steve felt a thrill at her slight smile, but her eyes were focused on the road. 

Steve knew from pouring over maps as he planned that it wasn ’t a long drive to the next factory town. But Steve felt every mile in his gut. Soon enough, everything was going to be over, one way or another. 

In all likelihood Bucky had been similarly rousted from his bed early and placed on another scheme, but there hadn ’t been any time or warning to say good bye or wish him luck. There were probably more than a few recruits regretting the excesses of the night before.

Steve had mentioned nothing of Jim ’s warning to anyone. True to his word, the instructor never brought it up again. Instead he seemed to push Steve all the harder in their last sessions together, making Steve repeat every last exercise until Steve was certain that he was going to be grappling with his own pillow as he slept. 

“What’s up with that bird.” Bucky would say when Steve would walk away from the sessions, wheezing. Though, there was something pleased in his expression as he put an arm around Steve. Still, Jim’s warnings and his insinuations about Bucky stuck in Steve’s mind with ‘yes we have no bananas’ tenacity. 

“Why are you involved with the project.” Steve blurted. 

Agent Peggy turned her eyes on him for a moment before returning to the road.  “Why do you ask?” There was an edge to her voice.

Because I ’m wondering whether the project is doing the best thing for the war effort. “You just seem like you could be doing a lot of other things.”

“Like what?” 

Steve watched the farms, newly sprouted crops waving in the wind as they past by. It was hard to imagine a war was going on, seeing nothing but peace as far as the eye could see. 

“Like running an army, I guess. What are they using a first agent like you in some back water teaching men who haven’t even formally joined the war effort yet?”

Agent Carter was quiet for a moment, the edge replace with thoughtfulness when she replied:  “Well I suppose the easiest answer is that I wasn’t given much of a choice. In my case I had to jump on the opportunity that was available to me.” 

Steve nodded.  “But what if the opportunity is doing something wrong?” Steve asked.

Agent Carter didn ’t take her eyes off the road, but her voice came out very short and sharp. “What did you hear, Steve?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. 

At once Steve had a vision of her pulling them over, and interrogating him at gunpoint. With a shake of his head Steve dispelled the idea. Agent Carter was a good person, there was no way-  “Steve.” She said.

“I didn’t hear anything. Just don’t like all the secrets and sneaking around, I guess. But like you said, wasn’t given much of a choice.” 

Her grip on the wheel loosened, and Steve felt himself filing her anxiety about the project away, much like he had been taught. The endless farms soon gave way to the tell-tale signs of industry. Houses were closer together, and a large munition factory was looming on the horizon. 

“When a door is left unlocked, Steve, you need to burst through it, not doddle by the keyhole wondering what’s inside. That’s a luxury we don’t have time for. Leave jumping at shadows to our enemies.” Agent Carter said.

Steve looked down at his briefcase. Doubts not quelled, but he had been taught well enough to know not to pursue the topic further. Agent Carter had been at war longer than he had. Of course she would feel differently about what was necessary. 

“You’re right. We must win the war by any means necessary.”

“I know its hardly the American ideal, but we must work with what’s been given to us,” she said, a little softer now. Steve wondered how many she had already lost to this fought. 

She parked on a street corner and let him out. He grasped his briefcase to his chest awkwardly as he said good bye.

“Good luck,” Agent Carter said before closing the door. 

Ajax was a new city, created by the war just as surely as so many cities had been destroyed by it. The very streets were planned in grid-like pattern that made it simple to find the one great feature of the place: the armaments factory. 

Steve glanced at the documents that had been given to him, and underneath his own face was the name Grant Phillips. He was a citizen of the United States, but from Jersey. Steve sighed. Hopefully no one here had ever known someone from Jersey or else his final test was over before it began.

The initial plan for his cover had been that he would work in the factory, most likely the higher-ups had already made sure that there was an open position that they would be eager to fill. Simple, but as a new employee his freedom would be highly constrained. His intel wouldn ’t really be any better than some schmuck who snuck into the place. 

No, in the little time he had been given Steve had come up with a better scheme.

 

The secretary gave him a polite smile over her typewriter. Steve had been kept waiting for the better part of an hour, and the woman clearly felt bad for him. Steve had packed a particularly unflattering suit that needed to be rolled back, and gave the distinct impression of a child wearing their father ’s clothes. It was intended to elicit indifference or pity from those who saw him. In these circumstances he was going to stand out no matter what, so he might as well take advantage of his appearance.

“I’ll check to see if he finished his call.” She said, rising from her desk. Once she was gone with a pang Steve crept to the waste paper basket. The lady was kind, but hardly up to date on proper security measures. He grabbed all the scraps of paper in the there, stuffing them into his ragged briefcase before making his way back to his seat. 

“He’s ready to see you.” The secretary said, and Steve thanked her for her help in equal measure to the guilt he felt over the papers now in his briefcase. 

 

“So, you’re an artist? And you want to make sketches of the factory?” The owner of the factory said, lifting bushy eyebrows over the letter of introduction that Steve had given to his secretary. 

“Yes sir, my paper is making a story on the war effort going on right on this side of the ocean. We hope to get our readers to see the productive aspects of the war. you see.” Lying to his those on his own side felt sour to Steve, but to his relief the older man nodded. 

“I’d let you do just about anything if it means we’ll be bringing you guys in. I’ll have Mr. Daniels show you around— ”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. As an artist I would prefer to get a spontaneous understanding of the factory, to better portray its, uh, essence.” 

The factory owner shrugged.  “Alright Mr.Phillips, I’ll give you the run of the place, as long as you don’t get in anyone’s way. And if you need anything I’ll inform my foremen to give you any help they can provide.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Steve said as they shook hands.

For the first time in his life, the fact that everyone overlooked Steve worked to his advantage. In a badly fitting suit he was able to infiltrate every aspect of production without anyone giving him a second glance. 

He quickly began with the perimeter, getting a sense of the dimensions of the plant, the entrances and exits, the weaknesses. The most promising place Steve found if he was actually going to blow this place up was the storage area where raw materials were kept. They were stupidly combustible and not a guard in sight.

“Hey! What are doing!” Steve’s heart stuttered a bit, but his training kicked in as he turned to face his catcher. It was a thickly built man with a bushy mustache, most likely a foreman. His furious expression cooled somewhat as he approached Steve. 

“Oh, it’s you. You get lost? There’s nothing worth looking at around here.” He said, putting a meaty hand on Steve’s arm and tugging him away. 

Steve wanted to protest, but knew that would only draw unnecessary attention.  “Sorry, just got a bit turned around.” Steve said, making a show of sheepishly looking at his feet. 

The foreman shrugged.  “It happens in a big place like this, but be careful. Last thing we need is some American breaking his neck while on tour around here.” The foreman guided him to a more peopled part of the factory where there were workers going by carrying things every which way.

“So, what kind of sketches are you doing?” Mr. Corbeau asked.

Steve turned to a sketch of some of the assembly lines he did just in case he was asked to showcase some of his work.

“Not to bad, but you really think that’ll make people wanna join the war. I mean why do you even care?” He asked. 

“I guess because of my brother Mike, he was a merchant marine.” He allowed the silence to fill in for what happened to Mike. Mr. Corbeau’s face softened. “I can’t join the war, I’m 4-F, so, I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.” Steve gestured to his paper and pencil. 

Mr. Corbeau put his hand on Steve ’s shoulder. “What you’ve got to give isn’t anything less than anyone else. Here,” He held up his keys. “You want in anywhere, I’ll get you in.” It had been a gamble, an elaborate lie like that, but one that paid off as the foreman personally toured Steve in restricted areas, answering all sorts of questions that he shouldn’t have.Steve would have to send a prayer for Mike of the merchant marines and his grieving family later. 

That was when Steve spotted her.

“Who’s that?” Steve asked, gesturing at the woman as she walked by, carrying a machine part, seemingly oblivious to their existence. 

“Oh, that’s, hrm, Mary, or Millie, no definitely Mary. She started just a week back. Not much else to say about her.” The foreman scratched his scalp for a moment before lowering his voice. “You aren’t thinking of asking her out, are you kid? Not to crush you or anything, but I don’t think you’ve got much of a chance.” 

“I just thought she would make a perfect model for the paper.” Steve said pulling himself away from the foreman’s grip. 

“Oh, is that so?” Mr. Corbeau said, at a loss as Steve found himself rushing to catch up the least remarkable woman that he had ever seen. 

“Hello, I’m here for a paper and I was wondering if you would model-” 

“I’m busy.” Mary grunted as she continued to lug her piece of equipment not giving Steve a single glance. 

“Please, it will just take a minute.” Steve said.

“No, now go on.” Mary said and began walking faster to out pace Steve’s shorter strides. In a matter of moments she was gone as if she had never been there. It was the way she walked, a tall woman trying to seem shorter, a strong woman trying to look weaker, a pretty woman trying to seem plainer. There were plenty of reasons of course. It left Steve twiddling his pencil wondering whether he had come across something or if his training had just taught him to find shadows in every corner.

By the end of the day Steve had a thorough floor plan of the factory and had been so unobtrusive he had overheard the schedule of the night watch. 

As he was walked by the storage rooms, the whistle for the last shift blew, and he noticed movement. Steve followed and knew that silhouette was familiar. It was Mary.

Steve watched as she tried the door to a storage room, ducking her head in. Then she came out again and went to a back entrance only used by those off loading materials. She lingered at the door for a long moment. Then she sharply turned his head side to side. 

Luckily, Steve was small enough that the machinery hid him while giving him unobstructed vision as Mary left the building. Once he was gone Steve went over the the door and found the lock had been tampered with. Someone could come by with a key, but it wouldn ’t keep it locked.

Steve bit his lip. Telling someone about this would draw unwanted attention to him, not to mention they may have to do a background check on him if they needed testimony and his documentation would not hold up. There was no brother Mike for them to find.

For all Steve knew Mary had a rendezvous with another worker, or she could just be a simple thief. The war meant a thriving black market for the enterprising. All these were bad and should be mentioned in his security report so that they could be looked into, but hardly needed his direct intervention now. 

Steve ’s stomach twisted. The voice in his head telling him to turn the other way was too reasonable. If he left back to STS 103 with the floor plans and schedules and crumpled receipts, maybe they would let him stay on, even in some supporting role like Agent Carter. Doing anything about this minor security breach could jeopardize that. 

 

 

Gravel dug into Steve’s knees as he waited. The sun had already set, and there was certainly no street light on the stretch of space, making it hard for Steve to see much of anything. 

The darkness allowed his imagination to run wild, what would the superiors do when he didn ’t check in? Would they hunt him down? Would he ever see Agent Carter again? Bucky? No proper goodbye, just an end. 

Still he couldn ’t go back. Not yet. It could turn out to be nothing, it most likely would. But Agent Carter had spent the last four weeks drilling them on trusting their hunches.

Time went by, the amount impossible to determine. A guard walked past where Steve was hiding, grumbling about cigarette rations. He didn ’t stop to scan the area before rambling on. Clearly he wanted his shift to be over as soon as possible. Sloppy, Steve thought as the blocky shadow of the guard turned the corner. That was when Steve heard a muffled cry. 

Steve straightened up and there! Darting from where the sentry had just gone, a figure too lithe to belong to the sentry.

Steve crept out from behind his lookout point and made his way to the door even as the figure slipped inside, believing themselves unobserved. They left the door wide open and Steve could see them fiddling with something they were carrying. Sloppy, Steve thought. 

‘You could kill them,’ a voice in Steve’s head said, that sounded remarkably like Jim. It would neatly solve the problem. However, wasn’t the easiest way rarely the best way? Steve heard some kind of mechanical rumble escape from whatever the saboteur was working on. Steve couldn’t wait by the keyhole any longer.

Steve jumped on the saboteur. The package they held falling to the ground and both Steve and the saboteur stared at it in fearful awe. Nothing happened. In the brief moment, the saboteur was able to wrestle their way out of Steve ’s hold.

Gingerly Steve picked up the package, wishing his palms would stop sweating and his heart would stop drumming.

He looked at the machine, and he knew this. They had gone over this sort of device before. Taking a deep breathe Steve lay the machine on the ground and began disarming it. When he unplugged the last wire Steve slumped with relief. The factory was safe.

“Dick, oh- God. Come over here! There’s been an accident.” A voice cried out in the darkness. 

Steve stood up, still light headed, from disarming the detonator.

“Hey, you there!” Another voice yelled.

Steve put his hands up, hoping to explain what had happened, before realizing that no one was going to believe him. Even if they did he wasn ’t given permission to release any details without the approval of his superior officers. Sloppy, Steve thought to himself. This realization coincided with two men tackling Steve to the ground. 

“Grant Phillips.” The officer spat out, tossing a folder onto the table. “Who else was in on this scheme?” 

Most of the British and American higher command actually, but Steve said nothing. Just as he had said nothing to all the many endless questions more than one officer had tried to pry out of him. Steve felt bad for them really. One dead man, a bag of explosives and all their answers was wrapped up in a little artist who just stared at the floor. It must be getting on towards dawn, and it showed in the raw tiredness of the faces of the officer currently sneering in Steve ’s face. Steve looked up at the ceiling and a fist smashed into his cheek, almost toppling over the chair he was sitting on.

“Officer Matthews!” The other officer said, but added no other rebuke. 

Steve thought of his mother suddenly, her disdain when she spoke about the officers who plowed down unarmed men woman and children for trying to stand up for themselves. Those who took their promise to serve and used it to bully the weak.

Not that Steve could blame them exactly for their desperate violence, as if they were the ones bound and trapped. 

“Who asked you to draw those pictures? Who hired you? We can’t help you if you stay quiet.” The other officer asked, trying to sound calm.

Steve looked back down at the floor. There was a spatter of red on it now. His nose was bleeding.

A part of Steve was deeply unimpressed by all this. Threats and a couple of punches was not going to suddenly make an enemy agent spill his guts. A voice inside that sounded like his Ma reminded him that he wouldn ’t want small town police officers to know how to really extract a confession from someone.

It must be dawn, Steve figures by their sheer exasperation, when they start stepping on his fingers, one by one rocking their weight on top of the digits. That actually brought Steve out of his trance, because he needed those. But at least they didn ’t cut them off, like he had heard had been done to plenty of intelligence agents who had been caught. 

Once that brought nothing more than a jumble of pained grunts from Steve, they gave up on it, and pushed him back onto the wobbly chair. 

“Fella, you better say something or else we’re packing you up somewhere where they won’t treat you as nice.” Officer Daniels said. For just a moment Steve felt a twinge of real fear as he realized that he didn’t know if Camp would come find him. He’d already failed, maybe they’d leave him, rather than compromise themselves. 

So, Steve did what any frightened Brooklyn boy would do in a helpless situation like this: he spat on the Officer Daniels ’ face.

 

“Well they really did a number on you, kid.” Bucky said softly, and pressed the cool compress to Steve’s face, relieving Steve’s hands, still sore, of the task. 

“You should have seen the other guys.” 

“Oh, did one of them break a knuckle on your cheek bone?” Bucky said, angling Steve’s face so he could better press the cool clothe against the alarming amount of swelling.

“No, but I’m pretty sure I bled on their uniforms a little.”

“Then I’m sure you’re going to be getting nasty letters from their wives for next decade.” Steve tried to laugh, but it made his face hurt and turned into a grimace. They sat in silence as Bucky went methodically over the rest of Steve’s injuries, his eyes grave as he took in the battered fingers and the taped ribs that the nurse had assured Steve weren’t broken, but likely bruised. 

“They say you got some really good information.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have gotten caught.” Embarrassment seethes in his stomach. There was no way he wasn’t getting sent home after a screwup like that. 

“Compromise happens, risk is part of the game. They also said you didn’t break cover.”

“Sounds like you’ve been asking a lot of questions.”

“You would too if they weren’t letting you see your best guy.” 

Steve stared down at the floor, unsure of how to take affection. He had been the apple of his mother ’s eye of course, but she had been his entire world too. Otherwise, he had never really known what it was to be on the receiving end of someone’s esteem, not just tolerance.

“I imagine once I’ve healed a bit they’ll send me home.” Not there was much home to go back to. 

“I don’t think so.” Bucky said earnestly. Steve shrugged.

Or, there was a worse scenario that Steve didn ’t like the think about: he knew too much. He knew about Bucky, the camp, everything. It would be stupid of them to just cut him loose, but what else could they do? Set him up in a flat where they could keep and eye on him and have him play solitaire until the end of the war? 

“If you do go home, you’re staying with my aunt. You told me about the place you were before, and you aren’t going back. She’d be happy to have someone as handy as you around.”

“I don’t want charity.” 

“Charity nothing, I want you to keep an eye open on my sister, make sure no fella gives her any trouble while her brother’s away.”

“And what? I’ll wait for you to come home like some war bride?”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll even wear the dress.” Bucky said and kissed Steve on the mouth. Some part of Steve wanted to be shocked by this, but at least his hands must have long expected it, perhaps the evenings spent sketching Bucky’s features from memory, and found their way into Bucky’s hair.

“Well, it would look better on you.” Steve said and pulled Bucky back down. They kissed until Steve’s lip started bleeding again and they had to stop. 

“Sorry.” Steve said, trying to stymie the blood.

“Nah,” Bucky said, pressing his face into Steve’s hair. “I could do this all day.” 

The door opened and they startled away from each other. If Agent Carter took in their rumpled clothes and mussed hair she gave no sign. 

“Steve, you’re wanted.” She said, holding the door open. Steve and Bucky shared a look and Steve stood up.

“That saboteur you found has caused quite the stir.” Agent Carter said as she lead him over the camp green and Steve realized with a stir they were heading to the farmhouse. 

 

Steve opened the door and found both a general, according to his uniform, and Dr Reinstein sitting in armchairs as if they had been waiting for Steve to come by for tea. Even the fireplace lit and gave the scene the domestic glow of a Norman Rockwell painting. Steve felt his stomach sink. While he had prepared himself for the loud anger of general Phillips he was not so sure he could take Dr Reinstein’s quiet disappointment, realizing his belief had been so poorly placed. 

“I imagine you know why you’re here, Rogers.” General Phillips said. It was a shock to be addressed by his last name for the first time in so long, conveying a weird sense of intimacy. Steve nodded before sinking into the chair opposite of them, unable to make eye contact. He clasped his hands. 

“You’ll be flown out to New York at Oh-five hundred, escorted by Agent Carter.” Steve let out a breathe. Nights spent terrified of these words, of failure and disgrace, and here it was. Nothing worse than being let go from another job. A disappointment, but he would find other ways to help. 

“I should pack my bag.” And say goodbye, he added silently. Maybe Jim was still around. 

Dr. Reinstein and General Phillips shared a look.  “Steven,” Dr. Reinstein said gently. “Don’t you have any questions about your operation?”

Steve ’s eyes widened as he clamped his moth shut to keep the words ‘what operation?’ from escaping. He’d been chosen, oh God, he’d been chosen.

Dr. Reinstein took his silence as a negative and began rifling through his briefcase.  “Even so, we have a number of papers we need you to read and sign, and quite a few tests to run before tomorrow.” 

He cast a glance at General Phillios who shrugged.  “If there’s any chance that we’ve been infiltrated, we need to act fast. No time for lollygagging Doctor. You wanted your subject, now you have him and he might actually shape up to be a half-decent agent. Now get a move on.”

Steve found himself taken to a room that had been transformed into a lab and Dr. Reinstein took samples of everything it felt. By the time he had been given the all clear and Dr Erskine had said good bye with a tight smile and quick squeeze to the shoulder Steve was still not quite believing he had been chosen for the program. 

Not that he didn ’t trust Erskine but in all likelihood he was probably going to be dead or worse by this time tomorrow. Oh god he needed to talk to Bucky! 

 

Bucky came into the room they put Steve up in as if it were just another evening of studying.

“What pretty girl did you have to charm to learn where I was?” Steve asked. 

“I’m afraid that’s a military secret. Do you know when your leaving?” Barnes asked, sitting down on the bed. 

“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you.” Steve said and he could see the hurt creeping into Bucky’s eyes. Not hurt that Steve wouldn’t tell him, but that this was going to be their future for who knows how long. They couldn’t talk of writing letters like other sweethearts when the experiment could fail and Steve could be dead in any number of hours, and Bucky was being sent to an undisclosed location. 

“But we’ve got some hours still?” 

“Yeah Buck, we’ve got some hours still.”

Bucky had to leave before the dawn. Steve caught his hand as he slid from the bed. 

“I’ll find you. I promise.” It was a stupid promise, a fool promise they both knew he probably couldn’t keep. Bucky smiled back at him anyway and squeezed his hand. 

“See you then, Steve.” There was a ghost of a kiss against Steve’s hair and Bucky was gone as if he had never been there to begin with.


End file.
